


Sake and Bile

by meelie98



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, F/M, fuyuhiko's birthday party, my first danganronpa fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meelie98/pseuds/meelie98
Summary: Fuyuhiko is only 16. Everyone is telling him he's a man now. He thinks a man could hold his liquor better.





	Sake and Bile

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago while going through a kuzupeko phase. damn these bitches really be tragic huh?

In the Kuzuryuu Clan, 16 is the age a boy turns into a man. An heir entering manhood is the cause of great celebration; if only Fuyuhiko could hold his sake.  
   Truly, he hates the stuff. It dries out his tongue and leaves this horrible bitter aftertaste, like bile, but asking for a glass of ice water isn’t exactly going to do wonders for Fuyuhiko’s masculinity. Especially in front of all the ‘family’. Fuyuhiko grits his teeth and fixes his tie.  
   Peko is to remain outside while all the stiff handshaking and veiled insults are taking place. Seeing her participating in such a public Clan celebration would be incredibly indecent, but these gatherings leave her Young Master vunerable and make her uneasy.  Fuyuhiko is almost as irritably insistent that he doesn’t need a babysitter for _one fucking night_ as Peko is in her desire to wait outside, head down, invisible. What else would she do, anyway? Fuyuhiko cannot find an answer to that one, and decides if she wants to spend all night standing by the restaurant’s door needlessly, that’s on her.  
   “I hate alcohol,” Fuyuhiko sniffs, turning to check his navy suit in the mirror. “Any type.” He peers back at Peko to see if she has any immediate reaction to this confession, but she just purses her lips thoughtfully and nods.  
   “Don’t drink any then.” She suggests. Fuyuhiko’s mouth bobs open in reply. It seems a really easy solution. Fuyuhiko is a yakuza. Fuyuhiko is the heir to the biggest crime syndicate in the country– potentially the continent. Why does he give a shit if some stuffy, traditional busy bodies question his sobriety? Hell, his future leadership? Since when has he given a shit about what anybody thinks of him?  
    (Since always.)  
   “Let’s just go, Peko.”  
   At first, the celebrations are okay. Long tables frame the hall, besuited men and pretty women wander between them. The food is decent and Natsumi and his father are kinder than usual.  
   At one point, a Great Uncle blinks at Fuyuhiko blearily and wonders where ‘the girl’ is. For some inexplicable reason this fills Fuyuhiko with joy; this odd idea that he remembers Peko, that already she is more than some blank faced servant to a select few members of the Kuzuryuu Clan. And why wouldn’t she be? Peko is capable of gutting some of the most capable mobsters here. It's really in their best interests to remember her.  
   “What’s it…what was it? Uh…Natsu? Natsumi?” The Uncle nods. Apparently the sake’s gotten to him as well, considering he can’t remember the name of the Head of the Kuzuryuu Clan’s daughter. ‘The girl.’ If Fuyuhiko had been someone else, he might have viewed it as a mark of extreme disrespect.  
   (The other girl. The sister. Not Peko. Peko’s not a girl. She’s maybe not even human.)  
    Fuyuhiko sighs and agrees that Natsumi is becoming a beautiful young woman, just as he has become a fine specimen of a young man, and he drinks the glasses of sake that are insistently shoved into his hands, the aftertaste and the alkali tasting like the words _you’re a man now, Kuzuryuu-san, you’re the Clan’s future, we’re proud, Kuzuryuu-san._ Man, what the fuck have they got to be proud of? Some snot nosed little shit with a punk attitude who can barely tie his own shoelaces. Barely get by without his surname. Thinking of that, thinking of Peko stood outside, thinking of Natsumi sitting around and laughing with all these annoying sons of bitches, makes him down a couple more glasses of sake. They all thump him on the back even when he starts stumbling. Even when the nausea washes over him. Somewhere along the line he’s shuffling along the wall, away from the long table, head down, skin pale and clammy. He enters the lobby of the restaurant and searches desperately for a bathroom  
    White, calloused hands grip Fuyuhiko by the collar and drag him in the direction of the empty Ladies toilets. Of course they do.  
   After a couple of minute of dry heaving pure sake and bile into a toilet bowl, slick liquid dribbling down his chin and staining his Givenchy suit, he stands up. She’s watching the door, pressed against it firmly so no ravenous Aunt or distant business associate’s wife wanders in and sees him like this. Realises how pathetic and fragile and weak the Kuzuryuu heir really is. Fuyuhiko’s wobble over to the fine marble sinks – _only the best for Clan gatherings_ – is precarious at best. Frantically he begins splashing water on his face, rips a few silken handtowels from a carved stone dispenser and dabs his face.  
    Peko is silent.  
   “You got…anything to say?” Fuyuhiko slurs. “Hah? You ever got fucking anything to say?”  
    Peko remains silent. A part of Fuyuhiko wants to ball his head up in his hands and stay here, in the bathroom, until they lock the place up. It’s not as though Peko will prevent him. It’s not as though it’s possible for him to look anymore pathetic in her eyes.  
   “N-not wondering why – why your _Young Master_ is acting like this?”  
   “You’re intoxicated, Young Master. It’s not shameful,”  
   “Seems pretty fuckin’ shameful to me,” He grunts. “What do _you_ think of all of this?”  
   “…Hm? I’m afraid I don’t really understand, Young Master.” Peko cocks her head, expression still a perfect stoic mask.  
   “Right. Huh, right. What do you think of this whole…congratulations, you’re a man now…thing,” Fuyuhiko doesn’t look at her. He peers into the mirror and sees his reflection – that of a sick, shivering little boy.  
   “I think it’s a grand celebration worthy of the heir of the Kuzuryuu Clan.” The glare he shoots her must be telling. That is not the answer he wanted. “Of course, if it’s overwhelmed you somewhat, I would be happy to escort you out,” That’s an even worse answer.  
   “Overwhelmed?” Fuyuhiko snarls. “You think I can’t handle some second rate yakuza from the Osaka branch and a couple of half cousins? Do you seriously think I’m that fucking weak?” There’s no slur in his voice now. His tone is scornful. Immediately Peko bows her head in submission.  
   “I apologise. I did not mean to imply that in the least. I simply meant –“  
   “You meant I can’t hold my liquor.” Fuyuhiko’s not going to deny it, not with the dampness on his silk tie and the bad taste in his mouth. Parts of his nose feel like they’re burning. He wipes his face with a handtowel again and checks his reflection. Still a little boy, but not quite as pitiful. “Could ya’ just fucking…”  
   “What, Young Master?” Peko’s head is still bowed in submission. She seems embarrassed by the ‘overwhelmed’ exchange. Or maybe frightened.  
   “Put your damn head up.” The room spins and Fuyuhiko has to clutch the solid surface of the sinks lest he rush to the toilet again. “I fucking _hate_ when you look at me like that,” A regular person might ask: ‘Like what?’, but Peko has already been too full of questions today. She just lifts her chin and stares through Fuyuhiko. Something about him shifts, softens, even, and he shuffles towards her and says, “Aren’t you bored? Just sat outside? It’s _my_ birthday, I should be able to invite you inside the restaurant,”  
   “It would be entirely inappropriate,” Peko blinks. “It’s not a birthday party, it is a celebration of your reaching adulthood. My boredom is nothing in comparison to your safety, Young Master. And I am not bored. As a tool of House Kuzuryuu,”  
   “Oh, Christ,”  
  “My feelings should be of no concern to you. Please, do not allow me to ruin your celebrations, Young Master,”  
  “Your feelings are my concern, Peko, they’re all I fucking think about,” Now Fuyuhiko does have his head in his hands. “Can I ask you a question?  
  “Of course.” Fuyuhiko glances up at Peko’s dead eyes and gulps down more bile. He’s not sure she really understands what he means. An actual question. For _her_ , not for a tool.  And he wants a real answer, not whatever shit his parents and Peko's trainers have drilled into her.  
  “Do you give two shits about me? I mean… _me,_ I mean not the fuckin’ Kuzuryuu Clan or the future of the Tokyo Branch or whatever, _me._ We’ve been together since we were kids, Peko…you’ve always been there, always and…you speak like - like you’re some worthless servant who’s never said two words to me…you know I don’t see you as that, I tell you not to…I’ve _never_ fuckin’ seen you as that. So why in the fuck do you act like this – don’t, don’t you care? Don’t you see what the hell this is doing? Do you hate me for this? Do you resent me or some shit? Do you feel _anything_ around me?” There’s something a little desperate in the way Fuyuhiko peers up at her, teeth gritted. Like he’s begging.  
    Unmistakable panic floods through Peko and there’s the barest twitch in her right eye. Then her features relax, because she understands. It’s a test. He’s checking her loyalties – and her inherent value. She knows what he wants to hear, because it’s what all his family and her trainers and her fellow workers have told her since she was a child. Peko says,  
   “I feel endless gratitude that I have gotten to serve under you for so long, Young Master.”  
    She smiles. Fuyuhiko clatters into a cubicle to empty the contents of his stomach again.

* * *

_“I’m never drinking again,” Fuyuhiko groans. The curtains in his room are drawn and his eyes are tightly shut and the sun’s still too fucking bright for its own good._  
_“Perhaps that’s a smart choice,” Peko agrees, clearly amused._  
  _He likes it. He likes when she’s happy and a bit sarcastic and he almost says something but thinks better of it. He rolls over and hears her shut the door on the way out._

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first non-haikyuu fic and also the first fic i've written that was under 7000 words. i posted it because it's decent and deserved to the see the light of day. plus i liked to post a fic during my breaks from school but i hadn't completed any WIPs. sorry if it's sad but kuzupeko is pretty sad  
> Please leave a comment! They make my day!! Thanks for reading.  
> Here's my tumblr if you wanna cry about kuzupeko with me: [https://heyheyheyyyyyyyyyyyyy.tumblr.com/](url)


End file.
